Fallout
by Lemon Green
Summary: Post-ep 7-13. He was going to catch up to her sooner or later.


AN: Mr. Kuzma, don't hate me. I split my infinitives…

AN 2: It's late. I'm tired.

As a child, she'd spent a lot of time around horses. Her mother's idea of a well-bred southern woman had two parts: cotillion and riding horses. Cotillion comprised of formal dancing and table and social etiquette; it prepared a southern girl to become a gracious host, well-mannered and genteel. The equestrian activities, supposedly for poise and grace, really seemed to be more of a social status marker. So, like every other daughter of every other self-respecting southern family, Calleigh had had cotillion, and she'd learned to properly ride horses.

Years of training and competition had been instrumental in building Calleigh's love for horses as well as the level of comfort she felt around them. Even though it had been over a decade since she'd last been on a horse, it had all came back so easily when she'd mounted her horse and placed her hands loosely on the ropes. Without a second, thought her legs had taken over the job of steering, pressing into and easing against her horse's sides to control speed and direction. It was like she'd never left.

It had been so relaxing, the cool breeze, the feeling of being one with her horse, working in tandem to some unknown common goal. As she'd ridden beside Terrance, Calleigh could almost feel the stress draining from her body, the pressure from work, lack of sleep, everything with Eric…for a half hour she'd left all of that behind and lived in the moment, as she had when she was younger.

That contented feeling persisted as she drove her car along the crazy Miami streets, as she pulled up to her apartment, even as she remembered her of how much laundry she had…she remained tranquil. That feeling, however, vanished almost instantly when she turned into her hallway and saw a visitor at her door.

"Eric," she said, breathless from a mixture surprise and climbing stairs.

"Hey," he said brightly. "You hungry? I brought food." As if to prove his point, Eric held up the large bag in his hand. "I tried calling you, but I couldn't get through, so I figured I'd stop by." He said this almost bashfully, his eyes studying the floor for a long moment before uncertainly meeting her eyes. She smiled gently, pushing open the door and ushering him inside with the request that he make himself at home.

"So what did you bring?" she asked easily as she moved around the kitchen, preparing a pitcher of lemonade for their dinner.

Eric's grin widened, and, taking a seat on the edge of the couch, he pulled two boxes out. "You like Cuban, right?" he called.

"You know I do," Calleigh said returning with the pitcher and two glasses for lemonade. She busied herself pouring their drinks and setting up the food. No sooner had she taken her seat beside Eric on the couch than a knock at the door had her once more standing. With gentle pressure, Eric pulled her back to the couch. Briefly, she wondered if he was going to tell her to ignore it…

But he quietly said, "I'll get it."

"You expecting someone?" Calleigh teased as Eric opened the door. Anxiously, she arranged their napkins as she waited for—

"Officer Delko?" Calleigh looked up sharply at this new voice. "Is…does Calleigh live here?" she immediately recognized Terrance's anxious voice from the other side of her door.

Within seconds, Calleigh was at Eric's side, quickly plastering her professional façade over the confusion she felt. She glanced briefly at Eric's face, and finding it inscrutable, she turned her attention to the other man. Terrance was easier to read. His eyes flickered rapidly between Eric and Calleigh, and his brow was deeply furrowed as he stumbled slightly over his words.

"You left this at the track," he explained, hovering his hand at waist level.

Absently Calleigh reached out, positioning her open hand under Terrance's. Terrance dropped a cell phone—her cell phone—into her open hand, explaining, "Hope you don't mind that I dropped it by…I figured it would be futile to call."

She took the phone, swiftly checking the display screen—one missed call, and she could bet it was Eric—before dropping it into her pocket. Her stance was rigid. "Oh, thanks," she responded, the hand on the door twitching anxiously. Behind her, Eric shifted.

With a shrug, Terrance backed up self-consciously. "Well…good night," he said "I had a good time riding with you today." Then, with a brief glance at Eric and then Calleigh, he turned and made his way down the hall

At this, Calleigh's eyes involuntarily fluttered closed, and it took all of her strength not to glance back at Eric as she closed her door. As it was, she could already imagine the look on his face, probably confusion, hurt. When she finally did turn, she was surprised by what she saw.

Eric had taken a seat on her couch and resumed eating. For a long while, he said nothing, and Calleigh had the strange feeling that this was the calm before the storm. The tension that had been rising steadily since Terrance showed up at her door (was it only a minute ago?!) was close to its breaking point, and Calleigh knew it was going to be bad.

Eric finished his meal and carefully closed the box. "You gonna eat?" he asked, glancing only briefly in her direction.

"Eric…"

Again, silence overtook the living room. Finally, Eric spoke. He didn't sound hurt or angry or confused. He simply said, "He was a suspect."

"What?"

"He was a suspect in a murder investigation. Do you know how bad this could look?" Eric asked calmly—too calmly.

Hesitantly she sat down beside him. "He was cleared," she said, still highly confused.

"Then you don't have anything to worry about." His tone was so cool, so matter-of-fact that she found herself wondering…all the things he'd said to her, the conversations they had, what she'd read in the doctor's notes….had she made it all up? Had she read too much into his actions the day she was almost run over or when she was kidnapped? Had she misinterpreted the furtive looks she sometimes caught him taking or the way he seemed to smile only for her?

"I don't understand…" she murmured slowly, surprised to realize she'd spoken aloud.

Eric's laugh was strained as he stood, taking his cup and remaining food with him to the garbage. "Understand what? He was a suspect, now he's cleared. What you do off the clock shouldn't impact what happens on the clock," he said so very detachedly.

At this, Calleigh's head shot up and she looked towards the kitchen. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Calleigh. Don't worry about it."

She stood quickly, meeting him at the entry to the kitchen. She could feel her hands starting to shake with anger as she resisted the urge to slap him. Balling her hands into fists against her thighs, she said, "Don't play games."

"Yeah, that's your thing, isn't it?" he asked, attempting to sidestep her. She blocked his movements and finally placed her hands on either wall.

"All he did was ask if I wanted to go riding with him. I was on the clock when he asked, so I couldn't go. Do you know how long it's been since I've ridden?" she attempted to ignore his comment, but it cut deeply and said a lot about his current state of mind.

"I understand that, Calleigh. But do you realize what it might look like to an outsider?" Eric forged on, impervious to the new flash of anger in Calleigh's eyes. "A guy is a suspect one minute, the next minute he's off the hook and riding into the sunset with the CSI on his case."

One hand ran through her hair but the other gripped the wall more tightly. "The case is closed and I was off the clock," she retorted through gritted teeth.

"Then we don't have a problem," Eric responded, attempting to step past her once more.

"Clearly we do," Calleigh said, now bracing her feet in the doorway.

"Maybe you should take that up with IAB. I need to head home." Eric stepped back to lean against the nearest wall. Calleigh wasn't going anywhere willingly, and he wasn't about to remove her by force.

Calleigh narrowed her yes. "This has nothing to do with the case or protocol or IAB or any of that," she told him harshly. "You're pissed because I went riding with him."

"Yeah, that's it," he retorted. "I'm mad that you went horseback riding with some stable boy."

"I don't _belong_ to you Eric. I'm not married to you and I don't have to give justification for my actions."

"You're right, you don't. Now that we've agreed, can I leave?"

"No!" she responded much more loudly than she'd intended, but rather than give her pause, it fueled her anger Coming further into her kitchen, Calleigh pressed the heels of her hand against Eric's chest and pushed. His eyes flashed, but he made no move to retaliate…she'd hoped he would. She pushed him again. "You can't leave. You think that just because…just because you throw out some ambiguous hints and let me read your file that I'm supposed to know exactly what you want? That I'm supposed to magically belong to you? It doesn't work that way Eric."

At this, he stood fully, arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah, it was all so unclear. How the hell were you supposed to know that I had feelings for you? Because you didn't know it at all when you kissed Jake in the lab or the entire time you were with him…because telling you over and over wasn't enough."

Again she launched herself into him with all of her strength, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. However, deftly, he took both of her hands in one of his and held them tightly. When she struggled, he pinned them against the wall. Her breath caught as she said, "You never told me once. You…you said all those pretty words, Eric, but they held no weight. They didn't have to. I was with Jake and you were free to say those things without fear of consequence."

"Yeah, because putting my balls on the table for you to smash isn't consequence enough," he fairly growled into her face. "Calleigh, I don't know how many more ways I can tell you…and you question whether _I _believe it? I've never known anything so absolutely in my entire life. What about you? Is this a game for you? Maybe see how far you can take this…how hard can he fall? But you know what, Calleigh, if you don't want me, you need to say something because I'm sick of being jerked around," he said, suddenly standing way too close.

"Yeah, I feel exactly the same way." Calleigh hoped he wouldn't hear the wobble in her voice or notice that the backwards step she took had put her flush against the wall…nowhere to go.

If he noticed, he didn't seem to care. "It must be hard dealing with someone so damn enigmatic." This time Calleigh felt rather than heard the deep rumble of his voice, and upon feeling his breath against her skin, the hair on her neck rose.

Her breath came out in jagged and unsteady gasps as she fought to clear her mind. Somewhere, far back in her mind, Calleigh thought that maybe she should be afraid…or at the very least angry. After all, he was holding her against the wall…against her will. She struggled against him, more out of principle than anything else, but he held tight.

"What do you want from me?" he growled, sending violent shivers up her spine. When had his breathing become so erratic? When had she become so in tune with his body? They were so intimately close that she could feel his body heat nearly scorching her. Calleigh could practically hear his heart banging against his chest. She smelled him: classic Eric and the faintest hint of sweat. Looking up, she noticed a thin sheen on his forehead. Had they been fighting that hard? She lowered her eyes from his forehead, and locked eyes with him. He seemed to stare at her for an eternity, the look in his eyes an unfathomable combination of anger and something Calleigh was certain she'd never seen before…at least not in his eyes. And she waited for it, hoped and feared whatever might come until finally pulled back from her and rasped, "you want clarity?"

And it was so sudden, so unexpected (yet so not unexpected) when he pressed his lips to hers (so hard it was almost painful…almost) that she very nearly gasped in surprise. There was nothing tender about this kiss…nothing sweet, nothing nice as he took her bottom lip between his teeth, the force eliciting a moan from her. Pleasure? Pain? She didn't know, but she fought back, her hands struggling against his, her tongue fighting for dominance. Eventually, he loosed her hands and she immediately grabbed the loose fabric of his shirt. But rather than pull it up, she pushed him. Hard. Satisfied by the audible thud his body made as it hit the wall, she gained the upper hand and continued her assault, relishing the slight yelp it brought forth as she dug her nails deeply into the soft flesh on the back of his neck. He tried to draw back for want of air, but she kept her lips pressed to his, daring him to force her away. He did, his tongue pressing painfully into hers as he shoved her back. When he came back to her, he ignored her mouth, biting and sucking at her throat in a way she knew would leave bruises she wasn't sure she wanted to explain to her coworkers. Then, just as suddenly as he had begun kissing her, he stopped. The look in his eyes was now a mixture of anger and sorrow and what she figured could only be lust as he pulled away. Paradoxically gently, he grabbed her hands—resting at his waist—and kissed the inside of her wrists.

"Think what you want of that," he murmured. And then he was gone, and Calleigh's suddenly sluggish brain didn't register anything until she heard her front door close and he was gone.


End file.
